


Reparations & Reconciliation [Discontinued]

by partybird_dot_jpg



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (between you and your family, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Multi, Rating May Change, This Is STUPID, Unhealthy Relationships, [chanting] fuck! the! doctor! fuck! the! doctor!, but i promise it'll have a happy ending because i'm a huuuuge baby. biggest baby., but like in a good way?, magic integrated with medical proceedures, meet me in the pit you're gonna smooch EVERYONE and you're gonna like it, not you and your skeletons/robot :( i wouldn't be that mean. ), this is gonna be a ride, welcome to new hope hospital! we're full of skeletons and poorly researched medical jargon!, you have self worth issues and life fucking SUCKS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-19 08:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14870177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partybird_dot_jpg/pseuds/partybird_dot_jpg
Summary: Surprise! You’re in the hospital, because some idiot decided that not minding traffic signals was more important than not nearly murdering someone, and you wind up in one of the largest monster-run hospitals in the tri-county area-- Both because of your financial situation, and because you were just a little closer to it than the local human hospital you were more familiar with.Man, for a place determined to not let people (humans and monsters alike) die, there’s a lot of skeletons around.And they’re all pretty focused on ensuring that you make it out alright-- Even after you’ve left the hospital for good.





	1. Unfortunate Circumstances.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by msmkcreates' 'Accidental Dating Sim' event on tumblr. You can find it under the same tag name on their blog! Ironically enough, it started with an ask i sent in to them on anon earlier this week, so now I'm in skeleton hell, indulging myself in The Best Way Possible. you can find me on tumblr @ flufflebones -- feel free to message me if you'd like! no set schedule yet, i'm still new at this!
> 
> edit: as a note: i take a lot of my inspiration for mutt and blacks characterization from lulu_writes' 'bones, picked clean', and cannot recommend a fic more than i recommend it. reasonable black and mutt? its swexy as hell, you guys. it tastes good as fuck.

In the grand scheme of things, being hit by a car isn’t the worst possible note you can think of to go out on. At least you’re not taking the L on the toilet, or in the middle of getting laid, or doing something stupid that people can bitch about online. At least you were doing something good. Something worthwhile.

Your bike lays a few yards away, a trail of ruined groceries leading up to its warped frame and ruined body. Milk, eggs, cereal-- All things that your family needed. All things that your parents couldn’t get themselves, given their condition. A spike of violent anxiety shoots through your cloudy thoughts, but gets suffocated immediately after; The pain currently lancing from your ankle up to your shoulder on your right side is making you dizzy, and your head is aching-- Like you’d been hit by a…

Ah, _right_.

 

You don’t strain to get up-- Instead trying to cast your eyes in the direction of the car that’d hit you, confusion and pain dutifully numbing any sense of fear you have when you see that the vehicle is much, much further away from you than you’d initially thought. Had you really been pushed that far? Had they been driving that fast?

It doesn’t register that the vehicle’s doors are already open, immediately, but when it does-- You make a weak noise of distress, trying to call attention to your prone form in spite of the fact that you couldn’t be sure that the driver responsible wasn’t planning on crushing your head like an egg on the pavement, and feel an immediate rush of relief when you hear footsteps coming your way. There’s someone there, you won’t have to call 911 yourself. Would they follow you to the hospital? Would the police get involved?

You suck in a sharp breath as pain erupts in your damaged leg, and a voice overhead-- Accompanied by an overly large shadow blocking the sun from reaching your presently uncovered eyes-- rises immediately.

“BROTHER, I THINK I FOUND THEM.”

 

Heavy footfalls catch your attention-- Coming to a stop near your head far faster than you’d thought they would. Another body looms overhead, far taller, and you strain to see their face-- Strain to see the both of them, actually.

“shit, that’s...”

 

“I’LL CALL THE HOSPITAL-- THE EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT SHOULD BE ABLE TO HANDLE THIS, IF THE INFORMATION FROM THE OTHERS IS TRUE. IN THE MEANTIME, DON'T MAKE THIS SITUATION WORSE FOR ME.” A pause, in which you feel your rising distress start to bubble into the corner of your eyes, and then…

 

“... _OR_ FOR THEM. THIS IS YOUR MESS, AND IF YOU GET US SUED, I’M GOING TO ENSURE THAT YOU BE THE ONE TO PAY UP. IN FULL. I HEAR BONE MARROW DONATIONS ARE QUITE THE LUCRATIVE BUSINESS ON THE SURFACE, AND I’M SURE THE BUSINESSES ASSOCIATED WOULD LOVE TO GET THEIR GRUBBY LITTLE CLAWS ON YOUR COCCYX, MUTT.” Mutt-- What kind of name is that???-- Makes a noise of distress in the back of his throat as the louder voice stomps away and gets on the phone. You stare owlishly up at the sky, unsure of whether or not you should speak, but he mercifully breaks the silence first-- Saving you the pain of moving your jaw unnecessarily.

“ ‘m so fuckin sorry, oh stars, are-- d’you-”

 

“Mmmh.”

 

“ ‘s alright, blacks goin’ t’ get you seen by the best in the tri-state area, we’ve got friends at New Hope mem’rial-”

His voice is slurring together, ever so slightly, and you’re not sure if he’s drunk, panicked, or just having trouble speaking as quickly as he has been-- You know how it is, you really do. The fear-- Uncertainty. Seeing someone on the ground that’s not immediately responsive, someone who could potentially be dying on you when you can’t do anything about it. He’s talking to try and keep your attention and his on something other than your current state, but the more you try to focus, the less you’re able to-- simply turning your attention toward him by way of squinting your eyes in his direction. It seems to help him, even if your blurred vision can’t help you read his expression. He looks awful pale, though, and you hope he’s not going into shock himself.

 

Now that you know that you aren’t going to have to call 911 through the fog of shock, everything from the last few minutes starts to gather in the periphery of your thoughts, and you only have a few seconds to prepare yourself before your own thoughts start to try to drown you.

Your first thoughts aren’t of your own condition, concerned if anything was permanently damaged-- It’s of your family. Your parents needed their groceries, needed paperwork filled out, needed accompaniment to doctors appointments and had elected to put pressure solely on you to resolve all of their issues when their medical conditions had left them unable to properly care for themselves. In the back of your mind, something more reasonable promised that you’d be able to find someone to help out until you were back on your feet and able to help, but the voice grows muted and then completely silent in the face of the vicious maelstrom presently wrecking the _fuck_ out of your synapses. Disappointment. Fear. Anxiety. Who are you if you can’t care for them?

 

A chalky feeling hand works its way to your forehead, and you’re dragged from your thoughts by the sudden sensation of Mutt, kneeling next to your head and pushing your hair up from your face. He’s grown deathly quiet, dark eyes intent in their focus on your face, and you open your mouth before you can even really realize you’re doing it.

“... are you okay?” You croak, voice strained and struggling to keep steady. When you don't get an immediate response, you continue to talk, though it's a little unsteady.

“... s’rry. Worried.” And embarrassed, but, whatever. He didn't need to know that.

 

He balks, clearly not having anticipated you saying anything-- Much less something so focused on his well being, considering the situation. This close, you can read his facial structure far better, and you realize with only a mild sense of shock that the guy is a monster. A skeletal monster, torn apart in places and marked with a golden fang in the place of one of his canines, who’s looking at you as if you’d just apologized for walking in front of his car.

 

Which you suppose you just did, but, again. Whatever! You can apologize for whatever you damn well want to apologize for. Including walking into traffic. He really, really doesn't need to look as surprised as he is, but there he is-- Gawking at you like you'd just made a terrible joke, or something.

And then he starts to laugh, weak and startled, and you twist your face into something you hope reads more as you taking offense than as you straining to take a massive shit on the sidewalk.

You squint at him, accusatory and so caught in your own thoughts that you don’t even manage to think about telling him to go fuck himself before he speaks.

“darlin’, you’re tellin’ me you get hit by a car-- by a monstrous fuckup like myself, no less-- an’ your first instinct is to ask if _i'm_ ok?” Well, when he puts it like that… You fix him with a petulant glare, brow furrowing.

 

“Stop making sense, i’m trying to be nice so i don’t get mad at you for busting my bike.” It’s as honest as you can muster, but you’re not sure if you can actually gather the focused energy it takes for you to get upset at a person, specifically. All that is presently spread fifty different directions, viciously reminding you of every reason you had to be upset, and it’s taking all of your focus to prevent you from just fucking losing it-- Which is something you’d… Rather not do. Especially in front of this guy.

“your bike is the least of your worries, sweetheart, but -- i ‘preciate you worryin’.” He leans back in place-- satisfied with the fact that he’s now managed to get you to talk and focus on something other than the pain-- and slips something from his pocket. You can hear the sound of a lighter in use, and soon after see some smoke curling overhead-- Gray, but shimmering with something orange and faintly, barely luminescent. Nose wrinkling in response without even breathing in, you close your eyes and focus on trying to breathe through your mouth--

Only to find that the scent from the smoke is like nothing you’ve taken in before, which makes you blink and then stare up at him in confusion.

“‘S that magic?” You pause, knowing that you caught him off guard, and continue.

“... the cigarette. Stuff on the surface doesn’t smell or look like that, normally.” At your clarification, he blinks, and then relaxes considerably.

 

“‘S magic, yeah.” Thinly veiled in his attempt at making a joke about your tone, he makes a lazy gesture with the thing.

“They’re made of echo flowers-- it’s supposed to help monsters burn off excess magic, helps relax ‘em. Why, you want a try? Sure the emts from new hope would love to see that one.” It takes you a moment, but you finally sigh and give him a thumbs down, not willing to move your head.

“As much as i’d like to, i think if i start to relax right now i’m going to burst into tears. Or have a panic attack. Or both? It feels like the right side of my body is, like, falling apart.” There’s a pause, before you move a little more-- Gesturing for him to lean down overhead of you, so you don’t have to speak as loudly. Distress starts to creep into your expression, progressively, and you can’t choke it down for much longer. You’re trying to be strong, but what’s the point? Who are you trying to impress?

 

“... And ‘ve got people that i need to get back to take care of.” You can’t even really process why you gestured for him to come closer, now that he’s in your space and the shame that comes with being overwhelmed starts to prickle in the back of your throat.

“I don’t-- I don’t- I can’t go, I have to-- They need food, their medications, they don’t even--” Sirens wail in the distance, and you take a shuddering, uncomfortable breath. Your eyes are swimming, and you can barely see him now-- He’s a blur. A blur presently putting out his cigarette with more speed than humanly possible, as the sound of heels approach from somewhere further to the right, where Mutt has been perched since the brothers found you.

 

“Please, you’ve-- can you help them? Please? Please-”

 

Black looms in the periphery, barely visible, and you don’t realize that he’s there until he speaks up.

 

“I SEE YOU DID AN ABYSMAL JOB OF KEEPING THE HUMAN FROM PUTTING THEMSELVES IN A WORSE POSITION THAN YOUR CAR PUT THEM IN.” His voice isn’t accusatory-- It’s concerned, but directed to your current companion.

“... LISTEN. YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN. BOTH OF YOU. WORKING YOURSELF INTO THIS STATE OVER SOMETHING THAT CAN BE RESOLVED WITH A PHONE CALL, GETTING UPSET BECAUSE SOMEONE IS UPSET OVER SOMETHING OUTSIDE OF YOUR CONTROL… IT’S UNNECESSARY. AND DANGEROUS. CAN YOU PICK UP THEIR BAG AND FIND THEIR IDENTIFICATION FOR ME WHILE I TALK TO THEM, MUTT?” Without a moments hesitation, Mutt picks up your bag obediently and rifles through it, until he finds what he needs and holds it out to Black. A part of you, the part still capable of thinking of things other than your panic and how much you fucking _loathe_ hospitals, wants to be upset at the invasion of privacy, but it’s something that's meant to help that you hadn't thought of in your panic. You move your hand, and almost immediately, Black comes into view.

 

Or, well. A blurry, burgundy-and-white blur that you assume is Black comes into view, but. Same difference.

 

“YOU WERE ASKING SOMETHING OF MY BROTHER, YES? AFTER I MAKE SURE HE DOESN’T BOLT FROM THE SCENE TO GO HIDE IN HIS ROOM LIKE A COWARD, I’LL ENSURE THAT IT GETS DONE. WHAT DO YOU NEED?” You blink. Try to calm yourself down a little more. Stopping the tears isn’t something you can really manage, given that it’s starting to get more painful to move your arm and you’re still not quite done flipping shit, but you manage to not get to the point you were at just a few moments prior with minimal difficulty.

 

“I-- I was taking groceries to my parents and stopping by to do their care routine, but--”

 

“DO YOU WANT ME TO CALL SOMEONE TO CHECK ON THEM FOR YOU? DO YOU HAVE ANYONE IN MIND THAT WOULD BE ABLE TO KEEP TABS ON THEM-- LIKE FAMILY? FRIENDS? YOU’RE LIKELY GOING TO BE IN THE HOSPITAL FOR A WHILE.” It takes a moment for you to really process the situation, and when you do, you frown. No, you didn’t-- Your sister had been absent for so long, and your parents had neglected their blood family to the point of them not being able to be contacted, either because they didn’t recognize your names or because their numbers had changed over the years. But you couldn’t admit this to a stranger-- so you offer a quiet, clipped;

“I’m all they have, but I have a number for the hospice agency my father works with. Let me… Can you see my phone, ah... Mutt? Black? It’s a rose gold--”

 

Pile of garbage. It’s a ruined, metal, pile of garbage.

 

Mutt holds it up, and you’re impossibly distressed to see that the thing has a huge spider web of cracks on the screen and a massive dent curving its frame inward, just a tad. It’s still on-- Barely. Under the dark patch of inactive screen near the point of impact, notification bubbles flicker down at a rapid rate as a conversation you can’t bring yourself to give a shit about flies past, and as you carefully raise your hand to take it-- Black sits at your side, a single gloved hand putting minimal pressure on your forearm to keep it down flush with the ground.

 

“ABSOLUTELY NOT. I’LL UNLOCK IT FOR YOU, I DON’T NEED YOU GETTING CUT BY GLASS ON TOP OF ALL OF THIS… MESS.” You blink.

 

“... Fine. The passcode is--” You figure you can change it as soon as you get the chance to.The sirens are getting closer, but you speak just loud enough for him to find the numbers you need him to plug in. Your parents numbers, your father’s hospice nurse’s number, and your roommates number all wind up piled onto a single notepad application file on Black's phone. After a moment of consideration, he holds your phone a little closer to his chest, seeming to be just a little uncertain about handing it back to you.

 

“CAN I… CAN I REQUEST SOMETHING? THIS WILL BE MY WAY OF PAYING YOU BACK FOR ANY POTENTIAL PART I MAY HAVE HAD IN THIS INCIDENT, ON TOP OF THE REGULAR VISITS WE WILL BE MAKING ONCE YOU HAVE BEEN PROPERLY ADMITTED TO NEW HOPE.” He waits for you to squint a little at him before continuing, seeming to want to ensure that you’re paying attention and actually considering his offer.

“A… RELATIVE OF OURS HAS A FORMER MONSTER COWORKER WHO IS CAPABLE OF REPAIRING HIGH MAINTENANCE, INSUFFERABLE, GLOWING RECTANGLES WITH MINIMAL RISK OF HARM TO THE DEVICE ITSELF. I’D LIKE TO ARRANGE FOR REPAIRS TO YOUR DEVICE, AND UPGRADES, IF YOU’RE SO INCLINED-- WOULD YOU BE OPPOSED TO IT?” Cranial ridges raised, he seems to brace himself for something-- Though you’re not certain what something that could possibly be.

 

“... I’d need to meet the monster, and make sure that they know that my privacy isn’t something I want invaded while they’re in the process of doing the repairs-- And I’d also need to know what upgrades are available. And, uh-- How long my phone would be out of commission. I use it for a lot of communication, so.” You sound less certain of yourself than you really should be, and Black leans back for a moment before tutting under his breath.

 

“IT’S NOT UNREASONABLE TO WANT TO ENSURE THAT YOUR PROPERTY IS IN GOOD HANDS, AS MUCH AS I WANT TO INSIST THAT YOU’D BE GETTING A THOUSAND DOLLAR UPGRADE FOR-- ESSENTIALLY-- FREE, SO. I’LL ASK THAT THEY TAKE GREAT CARE IN GETTING YOUR PHONE THERE SAFELY, AND WE CAN TALK WHEN WE VISIT LATER.” He sounds-- Well, he doesn’t sound pissed, persay, but he does sound pretty irritated by your refusal. Was that the right call? The sirens fade as the vehicle pulls up on the scene, and in a few moments, Black is standing-- Your bag and your phone held in his hands, the former swinging lightly with how hastily he moved into a less concerning position.

 

“HELLO-- OVER HERE, BOTH OF YOU! DID YOUR NAVIGATION SYSTEM SHIT ITSELF OR SOMETHING? WHAT TOOK SO LONG?”

 

Black moves away, and Mutt sighs weakly. He hasn’t moved since he handed your phone over to his brother, and it’s evident that he’s been biting his tongue-- Did skeletons even have tongues-- the entire time. You know you don’t have a lot of time, especially now that you can hear the paramedics getting ready to find you and get you prepared to be taken in, so you try to break the silence with a bit of humor.

 

“... Hey, Mutt--” You start, trying to keep your stupid shitty mouth from giving indications of the shit you’re about to pull by way of smirking, and Mutt jolts-- Kneeling next to you.

 

“Yeah, ‘m here. Did you need somethin’? If you’re plannin’ on cavin’ my skull in, trust me, you’re gonna want to wait until after the doctors have seen you.” There’s humor in his voice, laced with nerves that you’re pretty sure you couldn’t alleviate even if you weren’t laying on the ground, likely bleeding from places you really shouldn’t be bleeding from.

 

“Nah-- Just thought of something. Mind hearing me out?” There’s an irritated female-sounding voice stressing urgency in the background as he leans in to listen, and you can hear them. They’re so close-- This might be the last thing you get a chance to say to him before he’s left to pick up the mess your bike and groceries had left in the street, so you ought to make it good. If only for the sake of having something funny to take with you to the hospital to think about later.

 

“‘S a shame my glasses got knocked off-- I would’ve loved to know whether or not the monster who plowed me into the sidewalk and destroyed my pelvis was hot, you know?” You make a weak noise in the back of your throat, and for a moment you think the joke fell flat-- Until you hear a startled, strangled guffaw followed by a round of coughing that’s both grossly over exaggerated and still full of barely contained laughter.

 

Hah, nailed it.

 

“I’ll see ‘bout findin’ them for you-- I’m sure I can get a pal to fix those up before m’lord decides to drag me back to beg your forgiveness, an’ make sure you can appreciate me in all my shitty, shitty glory. Might be all bones, but they’re just enough to rattle the humans ‘round here, if you catch my drift.” There’s an audible purr, though you’re not sure if it’s born of comfort or of some attempt at seduction, lacing the tail end of his sentence, though he curses when he notices something out of your immediate field of vision. You pause, and then look at him quietly, and then manage a wheezing laugh of your own before two new blurry faces come into view overhead.

 

“If you’re quite done propositioning the victim, we do need to ask them some questions. Unless you’re planning on giving them the magic touch, Aster?” The higher voice-- Not so much feminine as you’d immediately assumed-- is chiding, if a little playful, and when they kneel down beside you, you don’t feel anything but safe and secure. And in pain. Fuck, actually, you feel a _lot_ of pain, and begin to wonder if your joke about him shattering your pelvis isn’t entirely off base.

 

“Hey there, sweetie, I know you’ve been chatting up dear old bones here, but I’m gonna need to ask some questions about what happened so we can get you treated quick. I haven’t been on the team long, but accidents with vehicles… They aren’t pretty. You’re a tough little thing, aren’t you?” God. You breathe in through your teeth, and grimace weakly in response, making a tiny gesture with your bad hand as they start to check your vitals and evaluate immediate surface damage.

 

“Hah, don’t give me too much credit yet, I’ve been bawling on and off the entire time-- The bone boys just kept my mind off of it until you got here.” Honesty feels better on your tongue, and you get the distinct feeling that Mutt must be pretty elated at the fact that you aren’t immediately taking the opportunity to rip him to shreds. As much as you hate this situation-- As much as the unknown consequences of being put in this position terrify you-- You can’t bring yourself to be angry. There’ll be time to be angry when you’re certain that you’re not going to flatline because of internal hemorrhaging or something, when you’re safe and secure and getting fixed.

 

For now, you clear your throat-- A painful, painful gesture-- and look up at the monster paramedic with a pleasant smile.

 

“I’ll answer your questions to the best of my abilities, I promise.”

 

And so, it begins.

 

Five minutes is devoted to answering questions and being poked and prodded in innumerable ways. At some point, you’re pretty sure a flashlight gets involved. You’re not sure how they do it, but they get you settled in a neck brace with minimal struggle, and move you from the ground to a stretcher with a considerable amount of ease. For all the shitty things people liked to say about monster efforts to do anything remotely resembling what humans used to be solely responsible for, there’s nothing you can complain about in what they do. Not that you’d want to, but, still!

They take all the information you’d initially provided Black for future reference, gather the belongings you’re bringing with you to the hospital, thank the both of them for keeping you calm until they arrived, and then start the twenty minute drive to New Hope Memorial.

 

Midway through, without a distraction present to keep your thoughts at bay, you start to sob.

And by the time you’re at the building, you’re hardly able to talk between strained, panicked breaths.

Because for all the reassurances in the world, even after they make the calls that you beg for on your behalf and you leave your teary voicemails, you’re afraid.

 

So, so afraid.


	2. Admission(s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You spend an entire chapter whining at your hot, blurry doctor. it's kind of distressing.

In spite of your panic, when you get into the building, you’re enveloped in a blanket of calm and gentle warmth so strong that it nearly puts you to sleep on the stretcher before you can answer any intake questions. An unknown sensation in the air thrums wildly overhead, with flickers of green edging between the drop tiles of the ceiling when the deep hum grows in intensity, and if you weren’t so comforted by it, you might’ve been unsettled. The paramedic at the head of your stretcher has, in the span of a few minutes, shifted in demeanor no less than two times-- From gentle warmth and silly stories she says she’s told her children at home no less than four times, to clipped, urgent orders that you can’t quite process-- And she continues to play the two roles for you, perfectly, throughout the process of getting you out of your clothes and into a gown and up until a new voice breaks through the muted din of the ER in the background.

 

“Ah… They did not tell me-- Cinnabar, have they been responsive?” Gentle. The voice overhead is gentle, exceedingly so, and Cinnabar doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest when they speak.

 

“Sweetling here has been a real champ, I think-- Answered all the questions we asked, even when it was me askin’.” A hand brushes over your forehead, raised pawpads rough but soothing, and you can’t help but feel immensely grateful for the fact that you’re still enough of a mess, even now, that the faint rush of heat on your face doesn’t read as something potentially being wrong. Far be it from you to read too far into the ways these monsters soothed each other, but… Contact felt good. It was a connection, something to keep you grounded, and in the face of everything that was going on…

 

The voice chuckles, softly. 

 

“Then we ought to give them our best in return, don’t you think? Wouldn’t be fair to have them giving it their all without doing the same.” There's a beat of silence before the voice continues, steady and self assured. 

 

“Now, I’ve got to ask you some important questions, just to ensure that you and I and the rest of the medical staff are on the same page.” A pause, and then they come into view— blurry and unfocused, but there. 

 

Ah. Another skeleton? Skeleton monsters sure were a thing, weren’t they.

 

“First off, I’m going to be the doctor primarily responsible for your care during your stay here at New Hope Memorial. I am a monster, and I do have an aptitude for healing magic, but we have human physicians on staff if you would prefer to be treated by someone of your own kind.” You pause, and then grunt a little. 

 

“I’m fine with being treated by you, ah…?” Uncertainty slips into your voice. Had you gotten their name earlier? Had they told you what they wanted to be called? You squint, and as if reading your mind, they speak. 

 

“You can call me Doctor Green— Or just Green, if you prefer. I’m glad that you’re open to me helping you, it’s been a while since I’ve had a human patient who hasn’t run for the hills as soon as they saw me.” They smile, though you’re not really able to see it properly from where you’re at, and then chuckle under their breath when your nose crinkles. God, did humans really give them such a hard time? Ugh. Ughhhhhhhh. 

 

“Hard to believe that people going to a monster established hospital can’t stand monsters, you seem perfectly capable of handling things.” You pause, and then gesture toward your face with a shrug of your good shoulder. 

 

“Helps that I can’t actually see you in great detail, though, my glasses got knocked off in the accident.” A small, wry smile takes your lips before you can stop it, and Green laughs again. 

 

God, how can someone laughing be that charming? 

 

“We’ll see about finding an alternative until you can get a replacement pair. For now, though… Your hand looks to be damaged, and I don’t want to force any undue strain on your body until we can get you settled.” Clicking their — Did skeletons have tongues?— tongue, they cock their head to one side. 

 

“Do I have your verbal consent to treat you? This will involve heavy magic use in place of radiology, but will be more comprehensive than most scans that humans have available for use. You will feel, at the very least, a tingling in your musculoskeletal structures, but it may be slightly more intense depending on your souls hue and sensitivity to magic.” They consider you for a moment, before smiling just a touch wider, the lines over and under their black eye sockets shifting a little. 

 

“Kindness— You’ll definitely feel more than a tingle.” 

 

You pause, and then snicker, because tingle is a stupid word and your doctor has a lovely voice that shouldn’t ever have to say said stupid word. 

 

“I hope so, I’ve been feeling tingly since I got here. Have you been trying to work your magic on me, Doctor?” Bad. Bad, don’t. Please don’t flirt with the doctor. You inwardly grimace, but keep a faint smile on your lips despite how immediately embarrassed you are by your own nonsense. As far as you’re concerned, if your doctor can’t handle the heat, they might need to step out of the kitchen.

 

The. The flesh kitchen? Absolutely not. The medicine kitchen? Noooo. None of those sound right. The silence following your statement only now registers, and you blink slowly— opening your mouth to shove your foot farther in. 

 

“I mean— it just feels nice here, is all. Like I’m safe. And not about to be dissected like a frog in high school biology?” 

 

Green tilts their head, as if wanting to ask more about what you’d said, and then nods a little in what seems to be understanding. 

 

“I’m not the one responsible for that particular trick, but I’ll let you know when she has a chance to stop by and check on you. As much as I’d love to break the rules to ‘work my magic’, there are… Regulations in place that I must abide by. Unfortunately, I’m too pretty for prison, and too many patients rely on me for their care as it is— I can’t afford to take any risks.” There’s an undercurrent of melancholy in his tone, though he hides it well, and you feel a distinct pull in your chest in response. It’s one you’re all too familiar with, something that you’ve been trying to curb in recent years, but you can’t help it. The softer part of you, yet to be eroded by the stress of day to day life, ached to give him a hug or something. 

 

And then, you spoke. 

 

“I’m sorry-- I’m sure you’d be able to do more if you were able to. I’m-- I’m grateful. For what you can do. Thank you.” Green shifts on their feet, seeming unsure of how to respond, and you feel your face starting to flush a little. Why were you like this? Why were you this way? You clear your throat, looking off to the side, but soon return your focus to Green as they carefully slip their fingertips under your not-quite-as-injured hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

 

“Now now, don’t thank me yet, I can only do so much for you. I’ll start now, just… Hold still, alright? It’ll be over quickly.”

 

There’s a flash of verdant, gorgeous green overhead, and from the point of contact the two of you established, you feel-- Something. It’s gentle, but invasive, and a part of you instinctively curls up in response to it as it starts to wash over you, but. 

 

Oh, right, yeah! Hit by a car. You were literally fucking creamed into the pavement by someone who’d wound up being a relatively decent person, and as much as you don’t want to believe it, there’s broken shit in there. Broken, damaged, ripped apart shit that you can’t and probably won’t be able to fix immediately. Which reacts to your sudden attempt at movement with a shock of fresh, violent pain. Uuuuuugh. 

 

You try to hold back the noise that bubbles up in the back of your throat, but it’s too much. Green doesn’t relent, pushing through your sudden movement to finish their ‘scan’, and by the time they’re done, you’ve adjusted enough to their presence to force yourself to relax. The soothing thrum of magic coursing through your body numbs the worst of the pain, and you swear you can feel your tissues knitting themselves back together under your skin, but that might just be spasms that you can’t control. You… aren’t really sure. 

 

And then, as if turned off with a flick of a switch, the presence of magic fades fast enough to give you whiplash. The center of your chest seems to chase after it, desperate to maintain the connection for just a little while longer, but once it’s gone, it’s gone. Bewildered but numb, you turn your attention back to Green— who, in turn, is staring at you like you’ve grown a second head. 

 

“‘S something the matter?” Mumbled, your words aren’t nearly as clear as you’d like them to be, but you force them out nonetheless. 

 

Green balks, for just a moment, before shaking their head. 

 

“No— I’m just surprised by how well you’ve been managing your pain, without magical anesthetic. Did the driver do anything to you before you were picked up? Because I might have to write them up if they did.” Their hand doesn’t leave yours, which is something you’re immensely grateful for, but they find themselves deep in thought for just a moment too long to keep your attention. 

 

You offer a noncommittal shrug, and then shake your head— A motion that they hastily stop you from doing by putting their free hand on your forehead. Haha, nice. You give them a look of mock offense before growing still under their touch.

 

“Nah, they didn’t. The driver was too busy trying to sell me on New Hope, and his brother was on the phone almost the entire time, so I don’t— I don’t think they had the time? Even if they wanted to.” Though, if you’re being entirely honest, there were points that you can’t quite recall anymore— points clouded by the fog of shock in place at the time— that you couldn’t help but wonder about.

 

Green makes a face that you can’t quite read, and sighs— drawing their hand away from your forehead before giving you a slow once over. 

 

“Good, because otherwise I’d be busting their patellas for causing you even more trouble.” With a wink, the air clears, and they give your hand one final squeeze before letting go. The contact was assuring, warm and steady, and like the magic before it, you feel tempted to try to follow in spite of yourself. Your fingertips twitch upwards, but you stifle the urge before it can get out of hand.

 

Haha, get it?

 

“Now, I’m not going to lie to you-- There’s a considerable deal of damage in some important places, but. I stopped the worst of the bleeding, and numbed locations that have major fractures so that they don’t cause you trouble while we try to make them more steady. There’s a few other points of concern, but they’re not life threatening or posing a potential risk to your mobility, as far as I can tell.” They sound-- Remorseful, again. Like they wish they could just fix everything all at once, which is something you wish for too, but you can’t exactly admit THAT in front of them, can you?

 

“So. We’ll start working on repairing the most pressing damage that we can’t fix with non-magical means, and then go from there-- Does that sound alright to you?” Greens voice is gentle-- Leaving you with the distinct impression that if you really, really had a concern or qualm about what was going on that you hadn’t spoken up about until now, you should probably get it out of the way now. You gather your thoughts, and then clear your throat. There’s only one question on your mind, and it’s-- Well. It’s a big one, you think.

 

“How long am I going to be here? I have family at home that I need to take care of, I…” You falter, and then grow silent, unwilling to put more pressure on the poor doctor. 

 

“Well, that’s-- We don’t… We don’t actually know, yet? There’s several fractures in locations that are going to require surgery to ensure that they heal properly, and we’ll need to keep an eye on you to make sure that there aren’t any complications afterward.” They pause, seeming to do some mental math before inclining their head just a little-- Apologetically, again. Oof, you might-- No, you definitely were going to have to get this guy a coffee after everything was said and done. “You won’t be here for very long, I imagine-- Five to seven days inpatient, while we monitor your condition post surgery and treat everything else that your body is trying to cope with, and then you’ll be discharged-- Under strict orders to avoid strain, okay?”

 

You bite back a groan, but refuse to protest, swallowing your dismay and allowing it to fester as you force a smile onto your lips. A week? Really? You want to protest, to explain that you needed to be out faster, but the urge to fight it fades as quickly as it comes.

 

“… Alright. I understand.” Throat tight, you inhale. Exhale. You try not to think about everything that could go wrong in a week. Try not to think about the bills. Try not to think about the appointment you’re going to wind up having to miss the day after tomorrow.

 

You fail.

 

Your stomach lurches, and you want desperately to be alone, but there’s no escaping from this bed-- No escaping from this place. A monitor starts to chime overhead, but you’re getting to the point where you just don’t care. Can you last until you get a private space of your own?

 

They’re going to be so  _ mad _ , why hadn’t you been paying better attention?

 

This was your fault, as much as the reasonable voice in the back of your head wants to claim the opposite, and you know it. 

 

“... I know it can seem intimidating, but… Once you’ve been properly stabilized, we can try to figure things out, I promise.” 

 

Like a splash of water, Greens voice cuts through your thoughts and drags your awareness, once again, back to them. 

“Just keep your chin up, alright? You need to keep up hope. We’re all rooting for your swift recovery, but… You can’t recover when you’re busy beating yourself up over things out of your control, like how slow us gross little hospital monsters have to be.”

 

Your heart swells, just a little-- You can feel their intent in their voice, and though you don’t really know how the fuck they were able to tell where your thoughts were spiraling, you can’t help but feel just a bit better. Smiling, weakly, you incline your head and sigh. 

 

“You’re not gross at all, you know. I’ve got… I’ve got reason to believe you’re a perfectly not gross monster doing their best. Same as the rest of the hospital staff.” Softer in tone than before, and just a little less steady at the same time, you speak slowly to ensure that they hear you— That you communicate your emotions as clearly as possible. Green is doing the best that they can, and your brain really doesn’t need to make them feel worse than they already probably do by making you seem ungrateful. 

 

Their hand returns to yours, giving you another grounding squeeze. It’s… only then that you really think about how touchy the monster staff has been— Something that you’re not. Entirely sure how to process, just yet? Like, it’s a thing, and that’s kind of not the greatest, but at the same time… You can’t say that you mind it, even without the weird pulling sensation in your chest telling you to reach out for your doctor every five seconds.

 

You close your eyes. Just for a moment. 

 

“Thank you.” Their voice is gentle, warm, and you can’t hear any of the more somber notes from earlier in it now. Which, a tiny voice in the back of your head says, is a pretty good accomplishment, if it does say so itself. “Think you’re the first human we’ve had through these doors that said so, honestly. Makes me feel special.”

 

There’s a weighted beat of silence, before a faintly muted rap of knuckles on the doorway startles you both out of your reverie.

 

“... Greenie, sweetheart, you done makin’ eyes at your patient? The beds all set up, same room we’re keeping short squat and bitey, and they seem stable enough to be moved out of the ER. I’ll get your cousin t’help move ‘em while you fill me in on what’s goin on.” Cinnabar-- Who, from the indistinct edges of her shape, seems like some kind of ginger toned, bipedal rabbit monster-- Puts a hand over her mouth and chuckles when Green jolts like they’ve been shot. “‘Nless you need a moment? You can’t imagine how many favors he owes me already, but I’m always up for addin’ another one to the pile.”

 

Oh! That’s what he goes by, alright. You look up toward him, unable to help the tiny smile working its way across your lips.

 

“Well, if I’ve got to ask him to add onto his pile on my behalf…”

 

Green’s face erupts in verdant, forest green, and you feel a bubble of laughter force its way past your lips before you can stop yourself. God, this poor guy-- Did he really deserve such a ribbing? He was being so nice, too, it’d suck to make him upset. Clearing your throat, you continue.

 

“I’d love to be able to see, so-- If he can track down my wallet and hand you the last twenty I had in there, can you pick up some reading glasses for me from that little pharmacy across the street? I’ll give you the information you need, if you’re up for it.” You feel Greens shoulders sag in relief, and Cinna snickers under her breath in response before giving you what you can only assume is an affirmative gesture. Maybe it’s a thumbs up. You’re not entirely certain.

 

“Of course, darlin’, don’t you worry. I was just about to go on break, anyhow, so I can just bounce on over and snag ‘em for you. What’s your prescription information? So I don’t get ones too weak for you while I’m over there.” Green’s hand leaves yours, and you hear him rifling through your clothes and the bag that they’d managed to slip among your belongings before you were taken away as you answer Cinna’s questions. When prompted for a color preference, you shrug and ask for solid black-- With the reassurance that anything would be fine, so long as it worked. 

 

Cinna, once given the money, bounces off into the hall to call on Green’s cousin-- And Green, bless his soul, tucks all of your things into a bag for you, sans the bloodied clothing that needed to be destroyed to be properly removed. 

 

But, before he leaves, you stop him with a quiet clearing of your throat.

 

“Ah… Green, the driver and his brother should be stopping by? Hopefully today or tomorrow? They offered to help me get my phone fixed, so I’ll be expecting them-- They called themselves Black and Mutt? I don’t know if monsters typically have surnames, but… Can you let the… Front desk? Or whatever-- Know that I’m giving them permission to visit in advance?” You trail off, both because you feel like you’re prattling on too long and because Green is looking more and more visibly agitated as you continue, and fall silent as soon as you can. It takes a good minute or so for your doctor to relax, and when he does, he brings his hand up to pinch the bridge of his ‘nose’. 

 

“Of  _ course _ it was them, why can things never be easy in this part of town--” Muttering to himself, he takes a moment to gather his composure before breathing out harshly and turning back to you fully. “I’ll make sure to let the front desk know,  because I know exactly who they are, and rest assured-- Fixing your phone will be the first in a long list of things they’re going to do for you, if I have any say in this. For now--” He pauses, as the sound of rubber squeaking echoes from down the hall, heavy and full of energy, before continuing. 

“-- I think it’s about time you get moved into your room. We… Unfortunately can’t give you a room to yourself at this time, due to budget limitations, but I’ll be the one ensuring that you and the others you share your space with come out of here in better condition than you came in-- If… If that’s any consolation. And, ah, if any of the people you share your space with start causing trouble, I give you my express permission to beat them over the head with your crutches, when you have them.”

 

You pause. Think about it. And then snicker, softly.

 

“Don’t worry, man, I trust you not to kill me on accident. I'll take a rain check on beating people up, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> green is wonderful and a snack and anyone who disagrees can meet me in the pit.
> 
> also: im marrying my own oc. i love cinna.
> 
> if you need to ask questions or want to make requests as to who we meet next, feel free to drop a comment here OR send me an ask @ flufflebones on tumblr. i finally remembered how to open my inbox, so! :^)
> 
> this was originally supposed to follow my 'two skeletons per chapter' format but green and the reader? incapable of shutting up. next chapter i think is the vanilla sans n paps chapter. probably. it's not going to be fun.


	3. [i'll come up with a chapter title later, have some boys.]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [crj voice] boy problems? who's got them?
> 
> theres a strong likelihood i might not be able to update this for a long while after this and i appreciate your patience. its not my best, but i just want to write because i'm not feeling super great. hi, sans! hi papyrus! bye, sans! bye, papyrus!

“... AND THEN YOU PRESS THIS BUTTON TO MAKE YOUR BED RAPIDLY SHAKE SIDE TO SIDE! THERE’S A FEW LOOSE JITTERING PIECES THAT WE HAVEN’T BEEN ABLE TO LOCATE THAT MAKE A PLEASANT JINGLING NOISE WHEN YOU DO IT, IF THAT’S SOMETHING THAT COULD LULL YOU INTO A PEACEFUL, SLIGHTLY DANGEROUS SLUMBER.”

 

God, you can’t tell if he’s fucking with you or not. 

 

Papyrus looms, but in a friendly way, half over your bed-- Adjusting your pillows, having insisted on taking his break in the wing that you were in for the sake of keeping you company. Your phone has been ringing nonstop, but with the way that the screen is broken, Papyrus has opted to take down numbers and then shut it off-- Which kind of sucks! Because typically, that thing is the only connection you’ve got to people outside of your immediate family.

 

And you really, really need them now. 

 

“Jingling isn’t usually what puts me to sleep, but I’ll keep it in mind for later. Maybe someone will need some poorly timed musical accompaniment for a bedside confession of love, or something? I heard hospital bed maracas are in style, this season.”

 

Papyrus laughs, and settles back into the chair next to you, fixing your blankets absently as he responds.

 

“THEY ARE! UNFORTUNATELY, YOUR ROOMMATE ISN’T PARTICULARLY MUSICALLY INCLINED, OR IN ANY FORM OF ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP, SO MAYBE WE SHOULD TAKE A RAIN CHECK ON THE MARACAS FOR NOW?”

 

The surgeries are scheduled, and you’re just biding your time until you get into the OR to get it done and over with, but the laundry list of injuries that Papyrus had rattled off at your request earlier is now keeping you from just sitting quietly and watching Kitchen Nightmares off of his phone with him-- Which is why you’re encouraging him to keep talking, instead of asking for the silence your headache is demanding like you probably should.

 

“... Do you know my roommate well? Where are they?”

 

Papyrus pauses, and then peers out toward the hallway before nudging the curtains between your beds to one side, shrugging as he does.

 

“RED GETS HIMSELF INTO TROUBLE TOO FREQUENTLY TO NOT BE FAMILIAR WITH MOST OF THE STAFF HERE, IF I’M BEING HONEST. HE’LL BE QUIET, FOR THE MOST PART, IF YOU DON’T GIVE HIM REASON TO BE INTERESTED IN WHAT YOU’RE UP TO-- BUT HE’S AS CURIOUS AS HE IS SCRAPPY, SO I’M SURE YOU’LL WIND UP MEETING HIM, WHETHER YOU WANT TO OR NOT!” 

 

The other side of the room is, despite Papyrus’ best efforts, still a bit of a mess. Bottles are lined up on the window sill, and there’s a suspiciously leathery looking jacket draped over one of the chairs that you can’t help but find yourself enthralled by-- Not to mention the stack of books, seemingly untouched, that sit on the bedside table in the corner near the window, poorly hiding a few magazines that you refuse to let yourself get curious about.

 

After a few moments in which Papyrus confirms that you’ve gotten enough of an eyeful of your roommates side of the room for the day, he moves the curtain back into place and turns to face you once more, a smile on his skull and a little twinkle in his eye despite the puff of faintly-mustard-scented air that follows him and causes your nose to crinkle in distaste.

 

“AND WHILE I CAN’T DISCLOSE TOO MANY PRIVATE DETAILS ON MY OTHER PATIENTS, I CAN TELL YOU THAT HE’S PROBABLY GETTING A FRACTURE FIXED UP. HE’S A SKELETON MONSTER, LIKE MYSELF AND DOCTOR GREEN, SO A LOT OF OUR PHYSICAL INJURIES INVOLVE OUR BONES! HERE, LOOK.”

 

Before you get a chance to respond, Papyrus moves to show you his forearm-- All pearly bone, with nothing immediately catching your attention aside from the weight of it as it sits in your lap. Giving him a quizzical look, you reach up with your good (or, well, as good as your hands could get without surgery) hand and simply rest your fingertips on it-- Uncertain of whether or not this was what he wanted, given that he’d only instructed you to look.

 

Orange steadily blooms on his cheekbones and continues to do so as you look up at him, and you hesitate to continue, asking for an update on his comfort with a polite, well thought out--

 

“Uh--”

 

“R-- RIGHT! YOU CAN’T SEE THE SCARRING IN THIS KIND OF LIGHT, CAN YOU? NOT TO WORRY! BECAUSE OF MY STELLAR HEALING MAGIC IT’S VERY SUBTLE, BUT IF YOU APPLY JUST A TOUCH MORE PRESSURE HERE--” He pauses, and guides your hand upwards a few inches, before letting go again, “-- YOU’LL FEEL ONE OF THE FEW INJURIES MY BATTLEBODY DIDN’T PROTECT ME FROM DURING COMBAT TRAINING!”

 

It strikes you, again, how odd it feels to have someone be so touchy without you being immediately repulsed by it. How good it feels to have contact with someone that you’re not necessarily uncomfortable with being touched by. You follow his instruction and press down-- Feeling out the visually imperceptible ridges that mark the edges of a wide cut that had, somehow, filled out almost perfectly with a material similar to his bones.

 

As you turn your eyes up toward him, bewildered and more impressed than you thought you’d be by his magic, Papyrus gives you a grin that you can’t help but mirror. 

 

“That’s incredible-- I couldn’t even tell something was there until you showed me, how did you…”

 

There’s a twinkle in his eyes, as he lifts his hands up carefully from under your touch and wiggles his fingers.

 

“MAGIC! … AND EXTENSIVE TRAINING IN HEALING WHILE I WAS PREPARING TO REQUEST ENTRY INTO THE ROYAL GUARD, BUT MOSTLY JUST MAGIC! IT ALWAYS LEAVES SOME KIND OF MARK, BUT THE BETTER YOU ARE AT HEALING, THE BETTER YOU ARE AT MAKING IT NOT SHOW UP-- LIKE TATTOOING INK OVER DEPIGMENTATION OR SCARRING TO HIDE THE CHANGE IN SKIN PIGMENT! IT’S REALLY NEAT, ISN’T IT?”

 

You nod, though it’s not much a movement at all, and smile. 

 

“I mean, that’s not _exactly_   what it’s like, but it’s definitely really close-- And super freaking neat, man. You’re doing an amazing job, and I’m glad to be under your care.”   
  
Papyrus pauses, and then looks at you for a few moments before making a soft noise in the back of his throat-- His face angling away from you as he manages a quiet, bashful chuckle in reply to your praise. 

 

“GENUINE COMPLIMENTS… DOCTOR GREEN REALLY WAS RIGHT ABOUT YOU BEING PARTICULARLY GOOD WITH WORDS, WASN’T HE? WITH YOU CHEERING ME ON DURING MY SHIFTS, I CAN ONLY IMAGINE THAT MY NURSING CAPABILITIES WILL IMPROVE TENFOLD! I APPRECIATE IT GREATLY, AND HOPE THAT I CONTINUE TO BE DESERVING OF YOUR PRAISE.” It looks like he seems to be thinking of something else to say, but something-- Something, you notice, that disrupts the hum of magic that you’ve slowly become more and more accustomed to, forcing the room into a brief, uncomfortable silence-- draws Papyrus’s attention to the curtain separating your bed from the bed closer to the window. You follow his gaze, and jump when the soft shuffle-slide-plap of house slippers makes its way around the flimsy barrier, another person entirely now standing near the foot of your bed.

 

“... should i ask?”

 

They break the silence with a confused, questioning, and  _impossibly deep_ voice that you have a little trouble understanding, and you suck in a weak, wheezy breath as you keep your eyes focused on him. Cinna still hasn’t gotten back with the glasses, and that’s a little frustrating, but you _are_ making her go through the process of getting them for you, so you probably can’t complain. While you squint and breathe at the unnamed figure across the room for you, Papyrus seems to catch on to something-- And then laughs.

 

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO! SANS, THIS IS ONE OF MY NEWEST PATIENTS-- THEY WERE INVOLVED IN THE ACCIDENT WITH BLACK AND MUTT, AND ARE CURRENTLY UNDER MY OBSERVATION UNTIL I NEED TO MOVE ON ELSEWHERE.” Sans, you assume, makes a face at the mention of Black and Mutt and their mistake-- Even with how hard it is to see, the major features on his face are easy enough to read, and he doesn’t seem happy. With them or with the situation, you can’t be sure— but he’s not. And that puts you on edge without you even realizing that it does, which means you open your stupid mouth and start to talk about something unrelated entirely without any prompting, whatsoever. 

 

“... Papyrus has been doing a great job of keeping me calm while I wait for everything to be ready. Did you know the bed makes a jingling noise when you press the right series of buttons on the remote? We’re planning on saving it for when my yet to be seen roommate gets proposed to, it’s gonna be great.” 

 

It’s the most you’ve talked in one go in the last hour or so, and your eyes flutter shut a few moments after as a pain in your jaw finally makes you go silent. Unable to see if your attempt at lightening the mood worked or not, you just try to focus on breathing as they talk in less bombastic tones and at lower volumes— Waiting until you feel the weight of Papyrus standing up and bracing himself lightly on your beds railing before you actually speak up again. 

 

“Lunchtime so soon? Bring me back something good while you’re at it, if the food here stinks I’m going to need a backup.”

 

Papyrus snorts. 

 

“BOLD OF YOU TO ASSUME I WASN’T PLANNING ON IT! I’LL HAVE TO SAVE IT FOR LATER, BUT I’M SURE TORIEL WOULDN’T MIND ME GIVING YOU SOMETHING NUTRITIONALLY BALANCED  _AND_ DELICIOUS ONCE ITS OKAY FOR YOU TO EAT-- THOUGH, NOW THAT I THINK ABOUT IT, I MIGHT HAVE TO ASK PERMISSION BEFORE FORGIVENESS IF I DON’T WANT MY TAILBONE TOASTED.” He fixes your blanket once more before moving to join Sans at the end of your bed, even though you really haven’t moved, and waves just a little as he starts to head for the door.

 

“I’LL GO GET BLUE TO TAKE OVER KEEPING YOU COMPANY, BUT FOR NOW-- SANS, CAN YOU STAY HERE? I’LL ONLY BE A FEW MINUTES, AND THEN WE CAN GO, THOUGH I DON’T BLAME YOU IF YOU WANT TO STICK AROUND A WHILE ONCE YOU GET TO TALK WITH THEM.” 

 

… You look over at Sans, who’s looking at Papyrus, who’s looking between the two of you meaningfully-- Like there’s some kind of unspoken temptation that lies in having a conversation with someone who Papyrus finds interesting, which might be a little more true if he didn’t seem to find everything that moves (and some things that don’t) interesting beyond compare.

 

“WINK.”

 

And then he’s gone, though you can still hear his footfalls as he makes his way down the hall, toward the Nurse’s station. You gawk at the open door for a few beats, before turning your attention toward Sans, who’s just sort of fiddling with a crinkling bag of something and avoiding eye contact with you.

 

Five minutes into talking time, and there’s a call for multiple staff members to attend to an incident a few rooms down. You think you see a flicker of pink smudging and white bone pass by the doorway, but only confirm that it’s Papyrus when Sans sticks his head out of the door in his wake and comes back with a loud, long suffering sigh.

 

Ten minutes in, there’s nothing. You don’t even want to turn the TV on, though that’s mostly because you don’t want him to think that you’re purposefully ignoring him.

 

Fifteen minutes, and you break.

 

“... You don’t have to worry about talking with me if you don’t want to, uh-- If you want to sit down, or something, you can put on the TV while we wait for him to get back?”

 

Silence. 

 

It takes another five minutes for you to speak up again.

 

“... Is something the matter?”

 

There’s a sigh, and then he’s stuffing his bag in his jacket and shoving his hands in his pockets as he leans back against the wooden cabinets intended for your belongings-- You know, if you had any aside from your bag. His head gives a weighty thunk as it makes contact with the door, and you’re not entirely sure what to do next.

 

“ just wonderin’ when you’ll drop the act.” 

 

Oh. Hm. You blink, and then look to the side before looking back at him incredulously.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

Sans shrugs, and he’s still not making eye contact with you-- Like looking at you directly is going to give him hit-by-a-car-itis.

 

“ i said-- listen. fucks sake, can you just make this easier on everyone else ‘n just request a transfer to one of the human hospitals on the other side of town, or something?”

 

He’s sweating, just a little. Like he expects you to be quiet the entire time or something. Despite your broken everything, you’re well known for not shutting the fuck up, and now is no exception. In spite of the icy weight settling in your stomach, and the flush of embarrassment currently spreading over your cheeks, you speak up.

 

“ … Can’t afford that. Probably not gonna be able to afford this, either.” 

 

You take a short breath, but Sans holds his hand up-- Demanding silence, albeit passively.

 

“... cool, well-- i’ll be honest, i don’t really care all that much.” 

 

His shoulders draw up toward where his ears would be if he was anything but a shitty halloween decoration, and he laughs-- Dry and humorless.

 

“ like i said. when are you planning on letting the shoe drop? because we’re all waiting for it. green, cinnabar, even paps-- he does too good a job to be stuck with someone who doesn’t appreciate him and what he does. i’d hate for him to get attached, so do us a favor and get it over with soon, yeah?” 

 

You blink, squint, and then blink again.

 

“... I’m not… Planning on it?” You clear your throat, doing your best to maintain eye contact even when Sans is fixing you with a look that makes you want to withdraw into your blankets and have a small existential crisis.

 

“... I don’t intend on making this more difficult than it already probably is for the staff here. They’ve been nothing but kind, despite the limitations that come with the fact that I’m a human, and -- I don’t want to…” You trail off-- It’s hard to find the words while he’s staring at you, but at least he hasn’t interrupted you with some snide remark about ‘wanting to’ versus ‘already doing it unintentionally’. After a few seconds, though, he does speak up-- Still guarded, but nowhere near as accusatory.

 

“ ‘don’t want to’ what?”

 

A pause. You hum under your breath.

 

“I don’t want to-- I don’t want to make it seem like I’m ungrateful for what they’re doing. Or make it seem like I don’t get how hard their jobs must be with the whole ‘oh, it’s a human, can’t do the cool magic shit without the board or whatever shutting us down so we’ve got to take it slower’ thing going on, you know?” Trailing off, you’re not sure that you know what you meant in the first place.

 

“... i’m not gonna trust that until you’re fully discharged, but i’ll keep it in mind for later.” 

 

Sans shifts, a little, and his expression softens-- Just a tiny bit. The tension in his posture has abated, and by the time he speaks again it almost looks like he’s actually smiling. A little chirping noise draws his attention to his phone, and after a few moments of reading he snorts under his breath.

 

“ black and mutt just added me, paps, and green to a group chat. wanna make a bet on what it’s about? winner buys the loser lun--” 

 

“Several boxes of Panda Express on ‘How to care for the angry and elderly while also gently explaining that you shattered their childs pelvis in public’, with an additional ‘can someone get me in contact with the tech person i told the human about so they can call their parents and tell them they’re alright, or just give them a functioning phone from the hospital for fucks sake, help’ for flavor.”

 

Your interruption is abrupt-- Expression flat, dead serious. You know your parents, you know how long it usually takes a particularly good driver to get to your house, and you know how they are when they worry. Sans stands there in silence, staring at you for what feels like an eternity, and then exhales sharply.

 

“... god.”

 

He looks at his phone, and then up at you, and then back at his phone, grimacing.

 

“... damn it, why panda express? they’re not even that good for the price, and the nearest one is at least a good fifteen minutes from here.”

 

You smile-- A little more earnestly, this time, and even manage a breathy chuckle, too. 

 

“Iiiiiii guess I can accept an easier to access substitute, if you've got something in mind? We can work it out once I’m out of here and you’ve figured out if you can trust me or not.”

 

Sans looks up toward the door, and then back toward you-- His blurry expression infinitely more friendly than it was when you'd first started talking. It’s incredible, really, how quickly he can snap back to this laid back demeanor; He lifts his hand and does a mock two fingered salute before stuffing it, and the bag he was playing with, into his jacket pocket. Smooth.

 

“ i think i've got a place in mind, actually. local, not too hard to get to from here, shamelessly greasy.” A pause.

 

“in a good way.”

 

He squints, as best you can tell, and then amends that statement further as he creeps toward the door-- The telltale shuffle-scrape of his slippers your main indication that he’s moving at all.

 

“... he lets me get away with eating there for basically nothing. has for a while. can’t get much better than free, right?”

 

Sans turns toward the door, only a little stiffly, and looks over at you one more time as you try and get your words out. 

 

“Ah… Are you sure?”

 

“ pretty sure, yeah. just don’t make me look like an idiot for listening to you, kay? liars don’t get free food offa me when they’re ‘sposed to be on post-hospital-visit diets.”

 

With that, he lifts his hand in a lazy wave and disappears-- Leaving you in silence, though you’re sure you can still hear the incident down the hall if you focus hard enough.


	4. Wuh oh! [An apology, not an update]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> life be suck, my guys

So. I'm in a bit of a nightmare situation and I can't find motivation to finish this fic as is due to its potential scale. I might revamp it at some point, or take some of the concepts/themes to slap into something else, but. I'm tired,  so for now! Wait for smaller undertale/reader fics. Probably less chaotic ones.


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